Gemotions

The silence in Arthur's garage was often broken by the rhythmic whir of his woodworking tools. He had poured years into crafting intricate wooden sculptures. His son, Sam, eight, had never shown much interest. Until now.

Arthur walked into his workshop, to find Sam, wearing safety goggles, carefully sanding a small piece of wood. The tools were put away and the shop was immaculately clean. The boy didn't even look up at him.

"You're using my... my equipment?" Arthur asked, a hesitant note in his voice.

Sam nodded, his eyes fixed on his work. "Trying to make a birdhouse. Like the one you made."

Arthur felt a strange constriction in his chest. He stood, frozen, as the boy continued working.